Lovely Sins
by unravel
Summary: A post-Season-1 fanfic, excludes Rita: Dexter is matched up in a presumably cold-case assignment with Miranda Cerulean, the skeleton expert. When Dexter starts to dig up more and more dirt on Miranda's past, how long will he be able to ignore the truth?
1. I : Beginning

Her phone was vibrating so hard, it fell off the bedside table. It landed on the hardwood floor with a sharp _clunk_. Miranda had been sleeping on her stomach; her hair twisted in knots and splayed out around her skull. As the phone hit the floor, the sound woke her with a jolt. She sat up, pressing her hands against the mattress, lifting her torso up, mumbling something inaudible. Sighing deeply, she lowered herself back down and reached an arm down to pick up the cell phone, flipping it open with her thumb and raising it to her ear. "Miranda Cerulean…" Her voice was scratchy with sleep, her tongue almost too thick in her mouth to form words. Miranda cleared her throat. At the other end of the line, the caller started to speak.

"Cerulean, you've been requested by Miami P.D. Something about a skeleton. They need your expert opinion. Report to 187 Baird Drive as soon as possible." And just like that, they hung up. It had been the receptionist at the hospital she worked at. Kate something-or-other. As Miranda flicked the phone shut, she processed. She was hardly ever requested by Miami P.D. Most of the bodies they found where fresh… Or at least still had meat on their bones. Miranda was a Forensic Pathologist. An expert with an expert opinion. The one they called when they dug up skeletons. And with Miami's 20 success rate with murder cases, they usually didn't find a whole lot of skeletons. When they didn't need her, Miranda worked at a local hospital, under a private practice. Most of the stuff she dealt with was small time. Private cases. Maybe working a face sculpture off a skeleton once and a while. She found work where she could, which also meant teaching a master class at the University of Miami once a week and several smaller lab classes every month. In Miami, she was a legend. Which meant paying the price every couple of months of dragging herself out of bed and trudging down to the police station or some middle-of-nowhere crime scene at all hours of the night.

Miranda slid out of bed, reaching over with a hand to push the bulky curtains that hung over her one and only window in the one bedroom of her one-bedroom-one-bath apartment. Light cut in through the glass of the window, slicing her sleep-sensitive retinas like a scalpel. She had forgotten it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Miranda had been on an eclectic sleep schedule ever since she had started teaching some lab classes at a body farm a half hour outside of the city. Her and her students had been out at the body farm every night for the past three nights. Lucky for her, last night was the end of the series. She had thought she would be getting some well-earned sleep right about now.

She had took a shower after getting home from the body farm early that morning so, after pulling on a long-sleeve button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, brushing her teeth and pushing the top layer of her long thick black hair into a silver clip, she was out the door. Miranda had thrown her keys and cell phone into her red sling back, which she threw into the passenger seat of dark red compact. Miranda liked red. It was also the color of her living room couch, comforter, and bed sheets. She always wondered what that said about her personality.

The engine caught and she pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot. Miranda blinked in the sun, pushing a hair of her cheek, pulling the address the receptionist had told her out of her groggy morning-memory. Even half asleep, Miranda had a strong memory. She always had. Especially with things that she tried to suppress. 187 Baird Drive. Miranda knew exactly where that was; right next to a park she used to go to with her family when she was little. Before she was adopted.

The street was packed with people trying to get a glimpse, cop cars with their lights and sirens going off, crime scene tape stretched around the empty lot. Because of the crowd, Miranda parked down the block and walked along the sidewalk to the lot. It was a residential area, lots of houses, probably lots of parks too, for families, but none of the parks were as big as Baird Park. Miranda and her family would come here on Sundays for picnics. She shook her head, running a hand over her forehead. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to remember everything.

Her I.D. was already in her hand by the time she reached the yellow tape. Flashing it to the officer monitoring the border of the scene, Miranda held up the tape and walked into the vacant lot. The lot was graveled in places, grassy in others. Not too different from any of the other vacant lots in any other residential Miami areas. Except this one had a body buried in it. Which, as Miranda considered it, might not be too atypical of other vacant lots. She smiled to herself as another officer approached her.

"Miranda Cerulean?" She nodded. The officer nodded too, as if mirroring her.

"We have a skeleton, possibly more than twenty years old. The reason we called you is because of the high profile circumstances the body was found in." Miranda must have looked confused, so the officer continued. "This lot belongs to Jacob Mare, the prime suspect for the Genna Baird Case twenty years ago." Miranda's breath caught in her throat. Genna Baird was the sixteen year-old daughter of the Bairds, a prominent Miami family with lots of old money. Genna Baird had disappeared in the mid-1980 and her body was never found. Miranda remembered the case clearly; she had been the same age as the Baird girl when it happened. It was the same year her parents died. Jacob Mare had been a 21 year old at the time and had had many links to Genna; several of her friends had identified him as being in a relationship with the teenager. But no substantial evidence had been found and Mare had never ever been tried in court.

The officer led Miranda into the middle of the lot where several investigators were surrounding a square hole in the earth. As she got closer, Miranda could see the hole was actually a cement bunker sunk into the ground. What looked like the cement top to the box was lying a few feet away. She turned to the officer. "Who found it?"

"Neighbors. They were digging for a well."

"On someone else's property?" The officer shrugged.

"Claimed they didn't think anyone owned it. Mare had it listed under his father's name, so it wasn't searched back when the case was hot." Miranda nodded, approaching the edge of the hole. Looking down into the dark cell, she bit her lip. Blood spatter patterns were all across the walls of the small cement box, dried into a dark wine color. In the center, the brittle bones of the skeleton were laid out in perfect order, as if the body had been straightened out after dying. Blinking in the sun and lifting a hand to shield her face from the direct sunlight, Miranda tried to get a better view of the body. Bone fractures all across the skeleton looked like stab wounds and it appeared there was a break in the neck, she couldn't really tell. The body must've been fifteen feet down and a man was staring intently at one of the walls, the one that looked like the main site of the directional castoff of the blood. His shadow was blocking Miranda's view of the skull.

"Looks like the apparent stab wounds on the body match those castoff patterns, huh?" She called down, sliding her bag off her shoulder. The man jumped, turning around. Miranda walked towards the ladder that was leaning against the side of the hole. She assumed that's how he had gotten down there. Before she turned around to climb down the ladder, she saw a confused look on his face.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Miranda heard him say behind her. She jumped the last couple of rungs of the ladder into the cement block.

"I said," She turned to face him. "I said that it looked like the castoff on the walls matches these fractures." She gestured around them, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of jeans pocket. The man nodded.

"Oh, huh, yeah. Looks that way…" His eyes remained on her. "And you are?" Miranda laughed.

"Oh, sorry." She held out a hand. "Miranda Cerulean." The man pulled off his own rubber glove and took her hand, shaking it.

"Dexter Morgan." As soon as he dropped her hand, he was already pulling his glove back on. But he didn't turn back to the blood spatter. "You're the skeleton girl, right?" Miranda nodded, snapping the wrists of the latex gloves against her skin.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that… " She kneeled down beside the skeleton, looking up at Dexter. "And you're the blood spatter guy, right?" Miranda smiled slightly. His mouth stretched into a smile, but his eyes didn't smile. Miranda had never seen anybody do that.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that." And with that, he turned back to the wall. Miranda took this as her cue to examine the body more closely. She took her time, running her eyes over every bone, brushing her fingertips across the outlines of the wounds, feeling the broken corners through the protective latex. Miranda didn't know how long he had been standing over here before she saw his sneaker next to her knee. She jumped a bit. "Oh. Sorry… I didn't mean to scare you." Miranda laughed softly, standing and brushing dirt off her knees.

"It's fine… Dexter was it?" Dexter nodded.

"Yeah." He exhaled loudly, pulling off his gloves and stuffing his hands in his front pockets. "So… If they called you in, you must have quite the expert opinion." He watched her pull her gloves off. "So, what is it?" Miranda looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"You're expert opinion? What is it?" She nodded, understanding.

"Oh. Yeah." Miranda arched her back, stretching her arms above her head. Dexter Morgan kept his eyes on the cement wall. She was impressed. "Well, he got her down here somehow… Drugged her, maybe knocked her out." She turned to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "Then he cornered her…" Miranda gestured to a fan of blood spatter coming out across the wall in front of them. "He stabbed her. Multiple times." She gestured to the puncture wounds in the bones. "Until she was dead." Dexter was nodding.

"And after she was dead, he straightened her back out… Sealed up this cement… cell. And walked away." He looked all around them. "Genius…" Miranda turned her head, looking at him questioningly. Dexter shrugged. "So, what, are you going to be able to tell us if this is Genna Baird?"

"Well, we'll compare dental records, any identifying marks… That sort of thing. But the skeleton is female; she looks about the right age." She sighed, looking across the body. "This could be her." Dexter nodded again and opened his mouth but was interrupted by a shout. The officer that had led Miranda over was calling to them. The two of them turned in synch and looked up.

"Morgan, Cerulean, we got to get out of here so the coroner can take the skeleton back to the morgue. But you guys might want to go out and get a cup of coffee or something while you might. Might take a while, we don't want to break any of the bones. They're delicate." Miranda nodded, pulling off her gloves, turning the fingers inside out as she pulled. She was almost frustrated; she came all the way out here and now it would take at the very least an hour to get this skeleton out of here, piece by piece. She huffed, and then it occurred to her that the officer had suggested they get coffee. Coffee? Miranda looked up to find the officer had already walked away. Dexter was on the first two rungs of the ladder. He turned, catching her eye.

"So, uh, we really don't have to get coffee." He held up one hand in a half-shrug, keeping one arm around the rung of the ladder. Miranda shook her head slowly, then faster in confidence.

"Oh, no, we can go…" Raising a hand to push her thick bangs out of her eyes, she shrugged herself. "I mean, if this body really is the Baird girl, this could seriously be the case of the year. We're going to see a lot of each other." She smiled, trying to be friendly. Sometimes, she could really drive people away; she didn't have the best understanding of people and normal social behavior. But she really was trying to get better, trying to go out with her friends more, meet more people. Miranda pressed a hand to her forehead; the lack of sleep was really getting to her. "Plus, I probably will collapse if I don't get caffeine in the next ten minutes."

Within ten minutes, Miranda Cerulean and Dexter Morgan were sitting outside a coffee shop that had been just down the block from the crime scene, each with an iced-coffee in front of them. Miranda's had some sort of cinnamon syrup and an extra shot of espresso. Dexter just ordered black coffee. At first, she felt that he hadn't really wanted to come with her, but eventually, with the coffee in front of him, she finally got a good look at him. He gave off this weird vibe that made Miranda almost uncomfortable, but also slightly comforted; almost like he had a secret that separated them, but at the same time that secret kept her safe.

Miranda took the first sip of her coffee and exhaled, letting the cold caffeine mellow her out. She was running on four hours of sleep, after all. It wasn't until after setting the cup back on the table in front of her that she realized he had been watching her. They locked eyes for a second before she blinked, squinting. "What is it?" He smiled, but this time the smile had more substance, like he was actually and genuinely smiling. Dexter took a sip of his own cup of coffee.

"Long night?" Miranda smiled, leaning back in her chair.

"I teach a class at the University of Miami. This last week I've held classes at the body farm right outside of town. I didn't get in until five this morning." Dexter nodded, holding the cup of coffee in his hand instead of setting it back on the table.

"Oh, well then…" He raised his coffee cup to her. "You really did need coffee." Dexter laughed a bit too loud and set the cup down on the table, finally. "So, skeleton girl… Why dead people bones? Why not…" He shrugged here, searching for the words. "I don't know art school?" Dexter smiled and Miranda laughed, taking a drink before answering.

"Well, I've never really been that talented at drawing the human form…" They laughed in unison as she set her cut down on the table, just a short foot from his. "No, really… I guess this is what I do beause-"Miranda cleared her throat in hesitation. "Well, when I was almost fifteen, my parents were driving home from a little weekend vacation. When they didn't show up when they said they would, we started to panic-"

Dexter interrupted. "We?"

"Oh, me and my brother, Oliver…" Dexter looked at her for a second, thoughtful.

"Miranda and Oliver… Were your parents into Shakespeare?" Miranda cocked her head, laughing a little.

"Well… yeah." She smiled, shaking her head. "Hardly anyone makes that connection… "Dexter was nodding.

"The character Miranda in _The Tempest_ and Oliver from-"

"_As You Like It_, yeah!" She was grinning before she caught herself, clearing her throat again. "Yeah… My father was a very prominent Shakespeare scholar and my mother was quite the Shakespearean actress in her day…" Miranda was smiling to herself. Then she sighed seriously the looked at Dexter. "They never came home that night. The police found their car a couple of miles from where they had been staying. The inside was covered in blood… But there were no bodies." Unconsciously, she reached up to rub a mosquito bite on her neck, lost in thought for a moment. Dexter sat silently. "They closed the case until I was nineteen-- Some company was clear cutting the forest near where they had crashed and had found the bodies. I was at the University of Miami studying Shakespeare; like my mom." Miranda had been talking to her cup until then. She looked up and caught Dexter watching her, so intently. "The police concluded that a semi-truck had hit them while they were on the way home. The driver must've freaked and buried the bodies. I changed my major after I got back from the funeral." Miranda broke her eyes away from Dexter's, taking a sip of her coffee. It was almost gone. He was nodding again.

"You didn't want anyone else to have to go through what you went through; how you didn't even know if you're parents were dead or alive." Miranda held her cup in midair, staring at him.

"Y-yeah… That's exactly right." She still didn't set her cup down. "Then, around the year anniversary of my parents funeral, one of my best friends, Elina, was found murdered." Miranda took a shaky breath in. "Elina had been one of my best friends since we were little; my brother took it hard, too. They had been dating for a pretty long time when she died." As she spoke, she had been looking straight ahead, staring past Dexter. After a while, Miranda shook her head, exhaling. "I don't think I've ever told anyone all of that in one sitting." She turned her head the slightest bit. "I don't know what it is about you, Dexter Morgan." Miranda laughed nervously. Dexter smiled at her.

"Well, I—"Something was vibrating against the metal leg of the lawn furniture they were sitting in. Dexter reached into his pocket to pull out his phone just has Miranda's started to go off. They caught each other's glances. It was time for Genna Baird to start talking.

Dexter Morgan slid into his desk chair, straightening up to look out over the edge of his plastic cubicle. Miranda was trapped in a conversation with LaGuerta, probably giving him enough time for a quick Police Database search: keyword, Oliver Cerulean. There were several hits, but most of them just off the last name; Miranda certainly had had a part in some of the most major cases the station had seen in the last couple of years. Finally, he hit the jackpot: Oliver Cerulean, murder suspect. Dexter quickly scrolled through the report. Oliver Cerulean had been a suspect, albeit a minor one. He was released on account of what appeared to be a solid alibi and no major evidence could be held against him. Just as he what about to close the window, Dexter caught a name from the report: victim's name was Elina Consuela. Hadn't Miranda said her murdered friends' name was Elina? Dexter frowned, staring at the screen for a few moments before closing the database. Had Miranda suspected her brother? She had mentioned her brother was in a relationship with the girl. Out of the corner of her eye, he could see Miranda waving to LaGuerta over her shoulder as she walked steadily toward Dexter's cubicle. For now, they had Genna Baird to deal with. But Dexter took one last glance at the computer screen. Mental note: Oliver Cerulean, potential problem.


	2. II : Brave New World

It was a long day before Miranda finally shut her apartment door behind her and collapsed on her small living room couch. This was by far the most exhausting case she had ever worked. Dexter and herself had spent a good two hours in the morgue with the resident mortician meticulously mapping out the stab wounds that covered the skeleton. The map they drew today would help them with some sort of blood spatter experiment Dexter told her they would be doing tomorrow. "No white clothes," he had said. With her face down in a throw pillow, Miranda shook her head. Her whole body ached and she couldn't possibly imagine what Dexter had in mind. She sighed. Never in a case had she ever had to work so… hand in hand with another investigator. Sure, in cases she'd had to work with other experts, but in this case her body of work directly overlapped with Dexter's expertise in spatter. Miranda sighed yet again. Her whole being ached for sleep. She turned her head to look at the clock above the living room television. It was almost twelve, and she was expected to be back at the police station by eight for a full day of work with Dexter the blood guy. Miranda didn't even get off the couch. Tugging the quilt that hung over the back of the sofa down and around her body, she turned on her side. Slowly the numbers on the clock began to blur, and Miranda was asleep.

Dexter turned his eyes away from the road to look at the clock above the dashboard. It was a little past twelve and he was on his way home. He smiled to himself; he'd already taken care of one problem (a cocky little arsonist just let out of jail) and was going to be home before one o'clock. It was a good night. Dexter leaned back in the seat of the car and sighed. After Miranda had left he'd taken one last look at the Elina Consuela file. Everything seemed like a routine act-of-passion murder, except one detail: Elina had been laid out after she had been stabbed in the same way they had found the skeleton they thought was Genna Baird. Though anyone could've felt guilty enough to try to clean up the mess they had made in murdering those girls, Dexter found it to be an all too similar comparison. If he'd had more time, maybe he could've made a few solid inferences that would help him later in researching this Oliver Cerulean. If he had a heart, maybe he would've felt bad for Miranda. He might feel bad for Deb if someone murdered him. But, Dexter guessed Miranda probably had no idea. Deb didn't know who he really was. Why should Miranda be any different with her own brother? Dexter pulled the car into the parking lot outside his building, checking the clock again. 12:15. He'd be expected at the station around 7:30, but Miranda wouldn't be getting there till eight. All day, it had been nothing but her bone stuff, but tomorrow (or rather, today) they would be in his territory then. Smirking, he climbed the flight of stairs and walked down the hall, keys already in his hand.

Miranda had slept better than expected. She woke up, hopped in the shower and ate breakfast with one hand while driving to the station with the other. When Dexter walked towards his desk, she was already there, spinning in his desk chair with a cup of coffee in her hand. He stopped, standing in front of her, leaning one elbow on the corner of the cubicle. Miranda kept eye contact with him as much as she could while spinning. "Good morning!"

"Well, you're in a happy mood. Better morning than yesterday, I'm guessing?" Miranda raised her cup to him, spinning another revolution.

"Much better. Coffee helps too."

"What, and nothing for—" Miranda stopped spinning and pointed to the cardboard carton still holding one cup of coffee. Dexter smiled. "Well, I was kidding, I usually—" She plucked the cup from its nest and offered it up to him.

"Don't worry, it's black." Dexter gave her a look, pausing for a second before taking the cup from her.

"You have a good memory." He looked her up and down. "And no white clothes. Fast learner." Miranda laughed and stood up, only wobbling a little bit from the spinning.

"That I am. So, are we off?" She took a drink of her coffee and looked inside. It was almost to the dregs. Dexter took a sip from his own cup.

"Well, I suppose you could say that. We aren't really going anywhere." Miranda frowned, confused. Dexter nodded his head to the side, motioning to the lab door of the station. "This way, please." And with that, he was walking out the door. Miranda scurried after him, hurriedly chugging the last drops of her coffee and dunking it into the wastebasket waiting by the door.

Outside one of the lab rooms, two clear plastic raincoats and two pairs of galoshes for waiting. Dexter pointed to the smaller ones. "Those," he said, picking up the larger of the two raincoats. "Are for you." Dexter slid the sleeves of the larger of the two raincoats over his arms and started methodically buttoning it up the middle. Miranda stared at him.

"You're not serious…" He didn't even look up from the buttons.

"I'm entirely serious, Ms. Cerulean. I never joke around when it comes to blood spatter." Dexter sat, kicking off his tennis shoes. "Now, put you're raincoat on." Miranda gave him one last look before picking up the raincoat and slipping it on in quite the same way Dexter did his. By the time she was sliding her pair of galoshes on, he was already waiting with his hand on the door knob. As she came to stand beside him, he was smiling.

"What?"Miranda said. Dexter shook his head.

"Usually I like doing this alone. I like being in here to just be with my thoughts. But having to share it with someone seems…" He paused. "Oddly exciting." Miranda looked at him.

An hour later, Dexter and Miranda were standing in the middle room facing a chopped up, paint covered dummy. It had taken them three tries, three dummies, and three re-papers but they had finally got it. The blood spatter patterns that covered the corner of the room matched the ones in the underground cell perfectly. Dexter was holding the small hatchet, the murder weapon he had determined yesterday from the patterns in the cell. Miranda smiled to herself. It was exhilarating, both of them standing there. Almost like being two conspirators in the brutal murdering of the dummy previously filled to the brim with red paint. "You know," Dexter started a little when she finally spoke. "It's actually very pretty…" Miranda stepped away from his side, closer to the wall of thin paper, holding her hand just inches away from the spatter of paint. Continuing the sweeping motion of her hand over the red blood substitute, she turned towards the mutilated ceramic dummy. She slowly dropped her hand, unable to pull her eyes away from the gruesome mess. Her parents, Elina… Genna. Sometimes she wondered why she choose to put herself in the position where she faced murder everday. Maybe it gave her peace of mind, gave her parents and Elina the closure she knew might never get. Maybe it gave her the courage to face her brother, as little as she got to see him. Her head slowly lobbed to the side, cocked as she got more and more lost in her thoughts. All at once, she felt the slight wind of hot breath on her neck and turned all too quickly. Dexter had been standing right behind her and, without realizing it, she had spun directly into him. Their chests pressed together and their faces where inches apart. Miranda started to totter, Dexter caught her tightly under the elbows, almost roughly. She took a sharp breath in, almost sure he was going to kiss her. But he blinked and after another moment, let her go.

"So, we're done in here. I'm going to go write up the report…" Dexter was already heading towards the door, turning to look over his shoulder. "You… You can help if you want." Miranda nodded in agreement, following him. As he pushed the door open, she turned and stopped, looking around at the paint once more. Miranda thought Dexter had already left the room, until she heard his voice behind her, still at the door. "O, brave new world—"

"That hath such people in it." Miranda turned, finishing his sentence. Dexter nodded, laughing.

"_The Tempest_, Character: Miranda. Act five, scene one." Miranda blinked, impressed as Dexter laughed again. "What? Did I forget to mention _The Tempest_ is one of my favorites?" It was Miranda's turn to laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you can say you did." Dexter nodded, still smiling.

"Come on , Cerulean. We've got work to do." Miranda waited until the door had almost shut behind him before she followed, letting the grin creep across her face.

She was standing in an endlessly white hallway. She could see neither the end in front of her, nor the beginning behind her. Elina was standing just a few yards away from her, smiling. Miranda tried to open her mouth in exclamation, to greet Elina, to tell her how much she missed her. But no sound came. Miranda gripped at her throat. Elina began to frown, raising a hand to point behind Miranda, mouthing something inaudible. Before Miranda had time to turn to see what Elina was pointing at, someone pushed past her, brushing her shoulder. Miranda stumbled, falling against a wall. The moments to come she knew all too well. The last glimpse of Elina's face was contorted into a scream as Elina clawed against the attacker who held her wrists. Twists of black covered the struggle until they absorbed into the attacker as her turned to Miranda. She tried to scream as the shadow took a step towards her, letting her glimpse Elina's mauled body, tangled on the floor a few feet away. Miranda tried to look away but could only lock eyes with the attacker as it came closer. And closer. Just as it reached her, snatching her own wrist up in its ice cold hand, a flash of hideous light darted across it's face. And Miranda uttered an audible scream for the first time: It was the face of her brother.

Miranda woke in a cold sweat. Her hair clung to her neck and cheeks and her breathing refused to go back to normal. As she stared into the darkness of her bedroom, Miranda slowly held up a hand into the streaks of morning light coming in through the room window. She was shaking. If she could remember correctly, she had been having that dream several times a year for a little over five years. She had it for the first time the night that the police station closed Elina's case without acquitting a single suspect. Taking a shaky breath in and out, Miranda began to relax. Her breathing slowed, but she remained sitting up, absentmindedly gripping the bed sheet in one hand. Just as she turned her head to look out the window, the alarm on her phone went off. Jumping, Miranda reached haphazardly, almost knocking the phone off the t, able. She grabbed it and, flipping it open, blindly pressed a few buttons, she was still half asleep. Miranda let herself fall back into the pillows, still dented from sleep. She didn't know how long she had drifted back into the tempting cloud of sleep when the doorbell rang. Groaning, Miranda climbed out of bed and plucked a discarded grey sweater off the floor near her bed. Before she reached the door of her apartment, she had pulled the sweater around her, hugging to her body with one arm and reaching for the doorknob with one hand. She didn't even think to look through the peep hole. Still sleepy, Miranda pulled the door open, and was greeted with a hesitant. "Miranda?" She blinked, squinting into the rising sunlight, holding up a hand to shade her face.

"Oliver?" Miranda kept her hand on the side of the door, clutching it. "What…" Her voice broke. She cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?" He was standing in the middle of the hall in front of the door. Her brother took a step forward, blocking the sunlight from Miranda's face.

"Can I come in?" Miranda clenched her jaw, closing her eyes as her dream came back to her all at once.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver frowned, becoming frustrated.

"Look, Miri, I just wanted to…" He stopped, pausing for a long moment. Miranda shifted her weight, wanting to go back inside and collapse into her bed and hide. But, looking at the clock, she had to meet Dexter at the police department in half an hour. She had drifted off longer than she thought.

"Just wanted to what, Oliver?" Miranda breathed out gruffly. "You just… You frustrate me. You don't even call me or see me for… what now? Over a year? And now you just show up here?" Miranda paused, looking at him. He didn't say anything. "I honestly thought you forgot where I lived, Oli."

"I would never forget where you live. Now, can I come in." He took another step closer.

"No, Oliver, you can't. I have to be at work in thirty minutes." She raised an eyebrow at him, no longer wanting to run away. It was always this way whenever they saw each other. Once she worked up the courage, Miranda could always stand up to him. Oliver looked down, defeated.

"Well, can you promise me I can see you later? Like, have lunch or dinner or something? I just want to talk to you." He looked back up, catching her eye. Miranda stared blankly back. "Please, Miri?" They stood there, on either side of the apartment door holding each other's stares for a few moments. Miranda was going to be late. She threw up one arm in frustration.

"Fine, Oliver fine. Dinner." Oliver's face brightened immediantly.

"Tonight?" Miranda nodded quickly, not meeting his eyes. "Okay, well, I'll meet you at our favorite place? Okay?" Miranda nodded, glancing up at him. He nodded back. "Okay. I'll see you later then…" He twisted his neck, forcefully catching her eye. "I'll see you later, Miranda." Oliver called his sister her real name for the first time in the encounter. As he turned down the hall, looking back over his shoulder a few times to see if she was still watching him, Miranda was frowning. She hated seeing her brother. He reminded her of her childhood, her past, things she didn't want to be faced with every day. That's why she cut off communication with him. And eventually, he had stopped trying to call and visit. But now, Miranda didn't know what he was trying to do. And that scared her. She closed the door, reaching over to pull the blinds open. Through the open blinds she could see the parking lot below her and her brother climbing into the passenger's seat of a smoky grey compact. Miranda crouched down, trying to see into the driver's seat. As Oliver shut the door behind him, the driver leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. Miranda took in a sharp breath. A girl with long straight red hair twisted her hand to start the car and shot her brother a toothy grin. Stepping away from the window, she felt her hands go clammy. A girl. A girl kissing her brother.

As Oliver Cerulean pulled out of the parking lot in the passenger seat of a car driver by an unknown girl, Dexter Morgan started his car from where he was parked on the opposite end of the parking lot. He rolled down the window just enough to toss his banana peel out onto the grass. Natural compost. Like human remains. Dexter hadn't been able to hear the exchange between Oliver and Miranda, no matter how much he wish he had. He had been tailing Oliver all morning. When he looked up the address, he had been surprised that Oliver lived so close. From the information that Miranda had given him, which was close to none, he would've guessed that her brother lived on the other side of the country. Though he still had a lot of research to go, Dexter was quite pleased with himself. The project he had made of Oliver Cerulean was shaping up nicely. Plus, with the added bonus of the girl that had come out of the house with him this morning and had driven him all the way to Miranda's apartment, he might be getting some insight. If Oliver had killed Elina Consuela or even Genna Baird, maybe he was getting the courage to repeat the action yet again. As he finally pulled out of the parking lot of the apartment complex, Dexter caught a glimpse of Miranda rushing out of the stairwell and towards her car. He smiled to himself under his sunglasses. Dexter would be beating her to the office this morning.


	3. III : Double Date

She was fifteen minutes late and still a little shaken when Miranda finally arrived at the station. Before she could even think about Dexter or the Baird case, Miranda located the police station's break room. She was almost done pouring herself a Styrofoam cup of coffee when Dexter appeared next to her, leaning against the counter. Miranda started, spilling a splash of coffee on the tiled counter. Dexter already had a paper towel in his hand before she had even set the cup down on the counter. He chuckled, mopping up the spill in one swift motion.

"Slow moving today, aren't we?" Balling up the paper towel and tossing it into the nearby trash, Dexter raised an eyebrow at her, resuming his place against the counter. Miranda sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

"It's just…" She pauses longer than she meant to, but when she looked up Dexter was still staring intently at her, a line of concentration across his own forehead. Miranda cleared her throat. She felt hung-over. "It's been a long morning." She looked around. "We should get to work." Dexter was shaking his head.

"We don't have to just yet." The line across his forehead softened into what Miranda thought looked like worry. "I mean, you really don't look so good Miranda. Did you eat breakfast?" Miranda, who had been looking down into her black cup of coffee looked up, biting her lip.

"Well… I had like, a banana in the car on the way here. But, Dexter, we really don't have to-"

"You know we won't get any real work done with you feeling this bad," Dexter interrupted. Miranda continued to bite her lip, finally sighing.

"Okay. Yeah, we can get some breakfast." Nodding, Dexter put an arm gently around her shoulders, leading her out of the break room and through the station.

The pair sat themselves at a small diner just a few blocks from the station. As Dexter slid onto the vinyl seat in the booth across from Miranda, he smiled. This was just what he needed: Miranda was obviously shaken up about her encounter with her brother this morning and she would most likely be willing to talk about it, with the right about of coercing of course. It wasn't long before a skinny waitress with blonde hair came over, pulled a pen out of her apron pocket and asked what they wanted to drink.

"Oh, just milk for me." Miranda looked up at the waitress, laying her menu flat on the table as the waitress scribbled on a steno pad.

"And two cups of coffee. One for me and one for her." The waitress, whose nametag read 'Kat,' shrugged, pushed her pen behind her ear and walked away. Miranda gave him a look over the table. Dexter shrugged. "You could use it." He smiled charmingly and, after a moment, she returned it with a hesitant chuckle. Dexter cleared his throat, threading his fingers together and leaning his elbows on the table. He was through beating around the bush. "So. Feel like telling me what you're really upset about?" Miranda, who had been consulting her menu that was still flat on the table, looked up, surprised.

"What?" She folded her arms into her lap under the table.

"None of this vague 'long morning business.'" He paused, holding her stare for a few seconds. Finally, Miranda sighed.

"Well, okay." She cleared her throat and Dexter slid back into his seat. It had worked. "My brother showed up this morning. Which, I guess, isn't a bad thing? It's just… I haven't really seen him in a while? And the few times I've seen him in the past couple years, it just reminds me of… our childhood." Just then, the waitress reappeared and set down the glass of milk and mugs of coffee on the appropriate sides of the table. Miranda order a stack of walnut pancakes with strawberry syrup and Dexter ordered a bacon, cheese, and red pepper omelet. As the waitress left, Miranda took a sip of her milk while Dexter waited patiently, turning his head to look out the window. A man walking on the sidewalk across the street from the diner reminded him of his brother Brian. Dexter turned back to Miranda, frowning.

"And sometimes you wish that the past was just that: in the past," Dexter said, almost unconsciously. He caught himself, blinking. Miranda was nodding.

"Yeah. Yes, exactly." She reached for her milk as she talked but withdrew her hand, brushing her fingertips against the cool glass as she reached for the porcelain mug. "Just… Seeing Oliver reminds me of our… parents. And…" Miranda paused abruptly, her hands stretched around the mug of coffee. Dexter studied her intently. She had paused for a reason and now fidgeted nervously, first staring out the window and then into her coffee cup.

"Miranda? Are you okay?" Dexter was leaning forward again as Miranda shook her head and inhaled unsteadily.

"Yeah. I'm fine." She was looking out the window again, resting her chin on her open palm. Though he his view of her face was somewhat obstructed by her hand, Dexter could tell she was torn. Inside, Dexter knew he would have a feeling of great anticipation building inside of him. That is, if he wasn't such a sociopath. He knew she would tell him whatever it is she knew about her brother. At last, Miranda straightened, turning her face towards him, looking him in the eye. "Okay, I've never really talked about this with anyone, Dexter." Her eyes ran over his face seriously. "It's about my brother." Dexter sat up straighter, giving her a look of innocent concentration. Miranda exhaled, looking down at the table and then back up into Dexter's eyes. "Up until I was around twenty, Elina Consuela was my best friend and had been for the longest time. She was… she was just the best person I've ever known, Dexter. And sometimes, I really miss her. I miss her a lot." Miranda paused and Dexter waited uncomplainingly. She was starting to fill in the blanks. "My brother is a little older than me, like around three years. When Elina and I entered college, she and my brother started to date. Before she was murdered, they were having some problems. Dexter?" She looked up as if she wasn't sure if he was listening from to find him very much drawn into what she was saying. They held eyes for a second before she spoke again. "Dexter, I think my brother killed Elina." There was a paused again and Miranda jumped in her seat when the waitress set her plate of pancakes down in front of her with a clunk.

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes, situating themselves among the plates, picking up their silverware and beginning to eat. After Miranda had cut half of her stack of pancakes into triangle-shaped portions and stabbed a dripping piece of pancake with her fork, just as she raised it to her mouth, she glanced over the table. "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you." She motioned to put the bite of pancake into her mouth, but stopped again. "I really have never told that to anyone." Dexter was halfway through his omelet.

"You didn't overwhelm me." He looked up and waited until she felt his stare on her and lifted her head to meet his eyes. They didn't talk for a very long time. When they had almost finished their breakfasts, Miranda sat back in her chair, placing her fork and knife on her plate. As she spoke, Dexter started a little and looked up at her from his dwindling omelet.

"This morning, when Oliver showed up at my door without warning, it just really shook me." Miranda turned her head towards the window again. "He wants me to go to dinner with him tonight." Dexter looked up at her, finishing his omelet, but she was still looking out the window.

"Are you going?" Miranda didn't answer at first, but turned back to him at last.

"Yes. But, I'm…" She frowned, as if searching for the right word. "I'm just a little wary about it." Miranda looked at him for a long second. "Dexter…" She paused, biting her lip. "Would you… come to dinner with me? And my brother?" Dexter sat up straighter. This was more than he had ever hoped she would be able to tell him about Oliver Cerulean. She was practically handing him over.

"Yeah." He said, almost too hastily. Miranda blinked. Dexter drew himself back. "I mean, of course, Miranda. If all this business with you and your brother is bothering you so much… then, yeah, of course I'll come with you." Miranda stared at him intently before nodding, satisfied. Dexter thought he saw her exhale.

"Okay. Yeah, good." A smile flickered across her face. Dexter had never noticed how much Miranda's smile could brighten her features. He cleared his throat.

"So, uh, what time? Should I… pick you up? At your apartment, I mean…" Miranda shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

"You can pick me up at my apartment. Here-" She dug through her purse, pulling out a day planner and a pen, scribbling something down on one of the pages and tearing it out with a loud _rip_. "That's my address. I'll…" Miranda sighed heavily. "Call my brother and tell him to meet us at the restaurant at eight? It's about fifteen minutes from my apartment. So you can pick me up at-"

"7:45. I can do math." Dexter smiled, jokingly. This breakfast was turning out better than he could have ever imagined. "Well, we have real work to do, Cerulean. Let's get the check and go catch us some bad guys." He said as he motioned to the skinny waitress. Dexter's good mood was growing by the second.

"Yeah… let's go." Miranda was smiling too, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, watching Dexter fool around with the waitress as she came over with the check.

Miranda had just pulled one of the only shirts she owned that she deemed actually flattering out of the steam cycle of her dryer when there were three short raps on her door. She was standing directly across the apartment from the front door in her bra and jeans. "Just a second!" Running across the length of the apartment, she pulled the black-sweetheart-neck-keyhole-back top over her head, trying not to damage her perfectly sculpted mess of hair. Dexter and herself had only been off from a long day of work for around two hours, just enough time for Miranda to shower and coax her thick unruly dark hair into what could pass for curls. There was another set of knocks on the door. "Coming!" Miranda swung her bag over her shoulder with a bit too much force and slipped on the only shoes waiting right beside the door: patent teal, peep toe flats. They might have been too dressy, but she had no time. Hesitating at first, Miranda snatched up the half empty bottle of perfume that had been a present from someone at some point in her life and was now residing on her side table. She spritzed herself once on each wrist and then rubbed her wrists on the back of each ear. Miranda sneezed once as the smell of sea cotton with undertones of apple overwhelmed her for a split second. When she swung the door open, she was almost out of breath. Of course, it was Dexter. Right on time.

"You look flustered."

"How nice of you…" Miranda tugged at the back of her right flat and stepped out onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind her. Her keys jingled as she locked the two deadbolts.

"You also smell like fabric softener and apples. You didn't let me finish." Miranda slid her keys into her purse, looking up at him. Dexter was smiling. "Of course, all of this just adds to the fact that you look particularly amazing tonight." Miranda laughed softly at his flattery. She had never seen him in such a good mood…

"Well, thank you. You clean up pretty nice, if I do say so myself." Dexter nodded, bowing a little in appreciation.

"And a thank you to you, too. Shall we?" He motioned towards the small flight of stairs that led from Miranda's hallway to the parking lot. It wasn't until Dexter was pulling his car out onto the main road until he asked: "And where are we headed to?" Miranda had been checking to see if she had remembered her cell phone.

"Oh, yeah, uh…" She looked out the window. "You actually just keep going straight on this road. I'll tell you when to turn." Dexter nodded, leaning back in the driver's seat. Miranda pulled a tube of peach colored, mint-infused lip gloss out of her bag and smeared it on her lips. As she flipped the vanity mirror on her blinder down and smacked her lips, Dexter laughed. "What?" Miranda said, smiling.

"Whatever you just put all over your lips smells like pure menthol." Miranda laughed too and Dexter glanced away from the road for just a second as he laughed with her.

"Well, it does plump your lips and freshen your breath." She laughed, still holding the tube. "But I just love the way it tastes, all minty…" Miranda smiled to herself. "It reminds me of my dad." The air inside the car grew very still. Dexter sat quietly as Miranda stared ahead contemplatively. "When Oliver and I were little, he smoked menthols. He stopped eventually for his health, but ever since he died I've kept a pack in my apartment. Sometimes I'll smoke one, just to smell like him again." After a quiet moment, Miranda laughed to clear the air. "I'm really glad you're coming with me tonight, Dexter." She looked over at, watching him drive. He quickly glanced at her, smiling. Miranda shifted, facing forward in her seat again. "You need to take this right."

The restaurant was a hole in the wall Chinese joint, the one that Oliver had referred to as their "favorite place." Dexter opened the door for Miranda as she walked into the small, smoky dining room that smelled of soy sauce. There were only three occupied tables in the room and Oliver Cerulean was waving from one of him. Sitting next to him was the red-haired girl, looking very aggravated. Dexter and Miranda snaked their way through the tables to the pair. Oliver was still standing up when they reached him and he reached out the hug Miranda, who hesitantly patted him on the back. Dexter shook Oliver's hand and pulled out a chair from the circular table for Miranda.

"Dexter Morgan." Oliver was nodding rather enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Miri told me on the phone. I'm Oliver, her big brother." Dexter smiled a toothy grin as the three of them took their seats.

Subsidy, Dexter leaned towards Miranda, whispering, "Miri?" He was grinning. Miranda gave him a stern look. Dexter smiled even bigger. The redhead was giving Oliver a look of her own.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Dexter, Miri, this is my…" Oliver gave the girl a pointed look. "Girlfriend, Sloane." Sloane smiled half heartedly at the two of them. Dexter could feel Miranda's leg bouncing up and down next to his under the table. He rested a hand on her knee gently and the bouncing slowly stopped. Miranda looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Silence fell over the table.

"So, Sloane, what do you do?" Dexter asked coolly, keeping his hand Miranda's knee. Sloane straightened.

"Well, I work at a local nursery. I'm really into plants." Her voice was as smoky as the room. Dexter nodded attentively, looking over at Miranda.

"Very interesting, right Miranda?" Miranda nodded slowly, sighing audibly. Dexter removed his hand from her knee and slowly sat back in his chair.

"But, actually, Sloane, why don't you tell them what you've really been into lately?" Oliver prompted, nodding encouragingly. Sloane nodded back.

"Yes, well, right now Oliver is helping me with my singing career." Oliver was still nodding.

"That's right! She already has a part-time job singing at a nightclub downtown." Miranda was nodding, too.

"That's… that's great. For both of you." Miranda smiled supportively. The silence grew around the quartet. The waitress could not have come sooner. Both Miranda and Dexter ordered water with lemon, Oliver ordered iced tea for Sloane and a Coke for himself, then to Miranda's surprise:

"And let's have a round of sake for the whole table!" The waitress nodded diligently and zipped off. Dexter and Miranda stared at Oliver.

"You really didn't have to do that." Miranda frowned. Sloane loudly rummaged through her purse. Oliver just smiled.

"Oh, come on, Miri. Lighten up! We're celebrating." Dexter continued to stare at him, almost blankly. Miranda sighed.

"Celebrating what, Oliver?" The waitress appeared, swiftly setting down the drink orders and zipping off again, saying she would be back in a second.

"I'm really trying here, Miranda." All of a sudden, Oliver was serious. "Just give it a chance, okay? We used to be really close." He grabbed his tiny sake cup, a little of the clear liquid spilling onto the table. Oliver raised the cup in the air. Sloane followed suit. "Let's have a toast." A smile flashed like sunlight over his faced and Oliver was happy again. Miranda picked up her own cup, but Dexter's hands remained in his lap. "Dexter?"

"I don't drink." Oliver frowned for a second, but then Dexter lifted his glass of water.

"To a new start!" Oliver proclaimed and the four of them took a sip from their respective glasses. Miranda shivered a bit from the bitterness. She hadn't had sake in a very long time. "Hey, Dex, why don't you let Miranda have your sake? She loves it, you know." Dexter shot Miranda a smirking look. Miranda rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her sake.

The waitress came and went, taking orders and bringing them. Oliver and Sloane shared a plate of vegetarian Lo Mein noodles, Dexter had sesame chicken, and Miranda ordered shrimp in honey sauce with candied walnuts. Dexter leaned against Miranda as they all began to eat. "Walnuts?"

"What?"

"Walnuts. You had them on your pancakes this morning and now candied walnuts?" Miranda smirked as she ate, feeling Dexter lean against her.

"I just like walnuts. A lot." Dexter laughed and straightened up, satisfied. Oliver was staring at them.

"What are you two whispering about?" He smiled a little. Dexter looked up, taking a bite of chicken.

"Oh nothing. I was just poking fun at your sister…" Oliver nodded, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork.

"So, are you two dating or what?" Oliver said in a fake-absentminded tone, as if he had just been waiting to casually ask. Miranda looked at him sharply.

"Oliver."

"What?" Miranda gave him a look, shaking her head slightly. They kept their eyes locked for a moment before Dexter said anything, almost talking to Sloane.

"Uh, no, we are not dating. Miranda and I are working on a case together at work. The Genna Baird case." Sloane continued eating but Oliver was focused on Dexter now.

"Genna Baird? Wasn't that case cold… or something?" Dexter shrugged, smiling a little.

"Well, we found the body, so maybe we can actually catch the guy this time, you know?" He smiled kindly and ate the few remaining pieces of chicken. Oliver dropped his fork with a clunk that made Sloane jump. Oliver leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Not hungry anymore, dumpling?" Sloane looked over at Oliver, sucking a noodle into her mouth playfully, the first show of personality Miranda had seen all evening. Oliver barked harshly.

"No." Dexter set his own fork down, finished. Miranda reached for Dexter's cup of untouched sake, downing it in one gulp.

Dexter and Miranda waved as Sloane drove herself and Oliver out of the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant. Miranda leaned against Dexter's car unsteadily. The third cup of sake was making her see rainbows. "Can we go?" Dexter started, as if he had been daydreaming.

"Oh, yeah of course. Let's get you home." Miranda slid into the passenger seat shakily. By the time Dexter had circled the car and opened the driver's side door, she was in tears. He slowly slipped into the passenger seat. "Miranda?" She was shaking her head.

"I'm sorry. I'm…" She took a jagged breath in. "Sorry.." A hand covered her eyes, rubbing her brow as she shuddered with a controlled sob. "It's just…" Dexter reached over, gently resting a hand on her knee. It was the same knee he had held under the table just an hour before. Unconsciously, Miranda set a hand down on top of his.

"What is it?" Miranda was shaking her head again. After a few moments, she straightened up and stared through the windshield in front of her. Dexter waited patiently.

"Elina liked to sing, too, Dexter. He's…" Miranda took a breath in. "He's been trying to find the right girl. And now he has her. Dexter-" She turned towards him, looking straight into his eyes. "Oliver will try to kill that girl if no one stops him." Dexter was nodding slowly, his eyes skidding over her face. Miranda frowned slightly, reaching a hand up to swipe at a tear trailing down her cheek. "What?" He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it abruptly. In one swift motion he reached a hand up, caught her jaw in his hand and pulled her mouth to his. Miranda tensed up before pressing against him, one of her hips jutting against the gear shift. After a second or two, Dexter leaned back and pulled away. Miranda settled back into her seat, sighing as she sunk into the cloth. Dexter stuck the key in the ignition and started the car. By the time they were on the main road, Miranda felt a shade of drowsiness descend. The next thing she knew, Dexter was calmly pulling her out of the car, lifting her with an arm under her knees and her neck. Miranda groaned, leaning her head against his chest. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Where are we, Dexter?" She heard the car door shut and they were moving. Being carried was surprisingly steady.

"We're at my apartment." Miranda lolled her head back, looking up at him.

"But what's wrong with my apartment?" Dexter jostled her a bit. They were going up some stairs.

"Nothing. I just don't think you need to be alone right now." Miranda nodded groggily.

"You are very nice… And strong." Dexter chuckled, swiftly unlocking a door without skipping a beat. Miranda sighed, folding her arms against his chest.

"Hey, Miranda?"

"Mmm?"

"Can you kick off your shoes?" She did so, hearing them clunk on the floor of whatever room they were in. Dexter was laying her down on a bed. "Now, you sleep here. And if you need anything, I'll just be in the next room, on the couch, okay?" Miranda frowned, trying to sit up.

"You're leaving?" She was very much on the brink of sleep.

"No, I'll just be right here, in the next room." He was standing in the doorway.

"Don't leave." Miranda's voice sounded very quiet. She sank back into the comforter, fully clothed. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she felt the weight on the mattress shift. An arm came around her neck and she wrapped her own arm around his chest. Pulling her knees into her chest, Miranda finally drifted asleep. And she did not dream about her brother or Elina or Sloane. It was just perfect, black sleep.


	4. IV : Walnuts & Painting

Miranda was overheating. She felt like she was in a coffin. Panicking, she started kicking, and kicking and kicking. She sat up, pushing the hair out of her face. Miranda had been lying in bed, fully clothed, covered in a down comforter and two quilts. She exhaled, slowly. She had managed to kick all three blankets onto the floor. And now, looking around, she had trouble remembering where she was. Sluggishly, Miranda pushed herself off the low lying mattress and landed with a _thud_ on the floor. The fog of sake and sleep was slowly dissipating and it was as if everything was from the night before was painfully rewinding for a special playback for her. The restaurant, Sloane and her brother, sake, her breakdown in the car, the kiss. Miranda groaned, resting her elbows on her bent knees and her head in her hands. She didn't know what she had been thinking. She'd certainly never been involved with anyone she'd ever had to work with in any capacity. Miranda exhaled and her legs stretched out in front of her. She slowly slid down onto the floor. Not knowing how long Dexter had been awake or where he was or even what time it is, Miranda finally decided to take a few deep breaths and bravely venture out of what she assumed was Dexter's bedroom. She took her time, straightening each separate vertebra at a time, taking care. She had managed to sleep on something wrong. As she made her way towards the door, a flash of dark hair in the mirror over the dresser caught her eye. Miranda stopped, horrified by her astonishing bed head. Hurriedly, she combed her fingers through it, gently easing the tangles out of what used to be curls.

Dexter was standing with his back to her. For just a moment, Miranda only stood watching, just a few steps away from the doorway of the bedroom. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but no words would or could come out. There was a medium size glass bowl of whole walnuts sitting on the counter between them.

"What are those?" Dexter turned around to see Miranda pointing to the bowl.

"Those are walnuts." He looked at her complacently, taking a sip of the coffee he held in a mug in his hand. Miranda bit her lip, frustrated.

"I know that they're walnuts. Why do you have a bowl of whole walnuts sitting on your counter?" Dexter smiled, as if he was playing a fun little game. He leaned back on the fridge behind him.

"You said you liked walnuts." Miranda lowered the arm she had been pointing with. The corners of her mouth turned down.

"I do like walnuts. A lot." She stood in the same spot, feeling very out-of-place. Dexter let out a laugh.

"I know that." Miranda let out a small sigh, glancing around her before sinking into a nearby armchair, her legs draped over one arm and her head draped over the other. She closed her eyes.

"What time is it?" She heard a clinking sound that she assumed was Dexter looking at his watch.

"It is… 9:45." Miranda jumped, sliding back into the side of the chair and sitting up, gripping the opposite arm, the one her legs were draped over.

"What? Why didn't you tell me?! We should have been at work—" Dexter was shaking his head.

"It's Saturday, Miranda." She felt her back slump in relaxation. On Saturdays, the two of them just had to be on call, just in case any thing happened with the case.

"Oh. Right." They sat in a long pause for a while before Dexter motioned to the bowl of nuts.

"Don't you want to eat your walnuts?" Miranda nodded slowly, with the nature of a three year old. She'd already made a fool of herself for one morning, thank you very much. Dexter smiled, pulling something out of a drawer. "Well, here. Here's a nutcracker. Why don't you go to town." Miranda slid sideways off the chair and deliberately made her way over to the counter, sliding onto one of the stools. Dexter splintered one walnut one with a _crack_ and Miranda snuck one of the little broken pieces of nut into her mouth. She chewed, watching Dexter crack a few more nuts. "Listen, Miranda." He looked up, seeing her face not too far from his own. She was leaning on her elbows over the counter. Dexter squinted his eyes ever so slightly. "What happened last night…" Miranda frowned. "What happened last night. The kissing, I mean. I don't normally do that. I have to tell you though—" He chuckled there. "There is something about you that just reminds me so much of…" He paused, looking down into the bowl. The last word of the sentence he spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. "Myself." There was another silence.

"Open your mouth." He looked up. Miranda hadn't spoken for a while. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Open. Your. Mouth." After a second of thought, he obeyed. Miranda sifted through the broken pieces of walnut meat until she found the biggest whole chunk. She then carefully laid this chunk onto Dexter's tongue. He closed his mouth and chewed. After eating a piece herself, Miranda quickly leaned forward and kissed the tip of Dexter's nose. He looked up swiftly, smirking. She looked away, smiling to herself as she ate another piece of nut. After a while she looked back at him, kicking her feet. "I really do love walnuts, you know."

Dexter had suggested, after Miranda had managed to go through half of the bowl of walnuts in one sitting with barely any of his help, that they go for a drive. Miranda jumped up, saying she had no clothes, hadn't taken a shower, but Dexter just shrugged, saying that she looked fine to him. After brushing her hair and swishing some of his mouthwash around in her mouth, Miranda deemed herself presentable. As Dexter slid into the driver's seat next to Miranda, she spoke, as if thinking out loud: "I never really go for drives… you know, just for fun?" Dexter gazed over at her for a minute before starting the car.

"Really?" Dexter pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "I find that it helps calm me down." He didn't mention that, when he went on car rides by himself, he was usually following someone or had just finished up a project. Miranda nodded, quietly looking out the window. Dexter was driving through a part of town she barely recognized.

"Hey, stop here." Miranda was pointing out the window. Dexter frowned, pulling over onto the curb. They were right in front of a small craft store.

"What are you doing?" Miranda was already halfway out the car as Dexter called to her. She stopped, turning around to lean down into the car.

"I want to get something. Come on." Swiftly, Miranda shut the door. As she walked inside, she was overwhelmed with the smell of wicker and paint. The aisles weren't labeled, so Miranda wandered, looking down each row until finally she stumbled upon exactly what she needed. When Dexter finally found her, she had three medium sized stretched canvases under her arm and was looking at paint. He snuck up on her and she shivered when he touched her arm. "Your hands are cold." She looked up at him. He looked down at his hands.

"Really? Sorry." Dexter rubbed his hands on his pants until Miranda reached out to grab one.

"I like it." She smiled slowly, waiting until he looked up and smiled back.

"Well, okay then." Stuffing one hand in his pocket, he gestured to the canvases. "What are those for?" Miranda shifted the large wood-framed rectangles, holding them in front of her.

"Ever since we did that spatter experiment a few days ago… I've just really had this itch to paint." She was looking at the bins of paint tubes again. Dexter stood beside her, rocking back on his heels.

"An itch huh?" Dexter watched her, wanting to push her thick bangs away from her face with his hand. He refrained. As she reached towards a bin, Miranda handed him the canvases.

"What do you think? Does this color look about right?" She was holding out a large, silver tub wrapped with a large piece of paper colored a deep red.

"Red? That's the only color you want?" Dexter asked, tucking the canvases under one arm. Miranda smiled, pulling the tube back towards herself, rolling it between her fingers.

"I want to make some paintings like the blood spatters we did back at the lab." Dexter blinked. He had never met anyone who found spatter patterns as interesting as he did. After a moment, he plucked the tube from her hand. Miranda's fingers held onto it reluctantly, as if she thought he was going to put the tube back into its bin. Without saying anything, Dexter turned slowly and began walking toward the cash register. Smiling, Miranda followed him.

Back at Dexter's apartment, Miranda bounced around giddily. Dexter set up a station for her in the bathroom so she wouldn't make too much of a mess. He even gathered a few knives from the butcher's block in the kitchen for her to use. Within an hour, he was sitting on the toilet of the bathroom watching her fling the red paint from the knife onto the white canvas positioned on the other side of the bathtub.

Miranda dragged the blade of the knife through the puddle of paint that lay on the paper plate on the edge of the tub. Holding the knife upright, she closed one eye so the knife made a straight line down the middle of the canvas. She flicked the knife forward and opened her eye to watch the line of red dots join the ones she had flung before them. Her eyes darted over the painting, the layers of red spatter over the pure canvas. Paint was dripping down the tile around the canvas. Miranda looked down at the knife, running a finger over the flat, along the sharpened edge. She rubbed the paint between her fingers, looking at the paint on the tile. "God, I'm sorry. I've made a huge mess." As she spoke, she turned to Dexter, still rubbing the paint between her fingers. She turned to see his eyes staring intently at her. "What?" She shifted, facing him. As she stood there, he continued to watch her, almost in a studious and methodical way. He looked at the knife in her hand, still raised, and the paint she had smeared over her fingers. In the silence, Miranda absentmindedly reached out to touch his face, accidentally rubbing two lines of wet paint across his cheek. She made a sound of mistake, almost an 'oh,' but Dexter seemed to not notice. Slowly he stood up and Miranda had to take a step back as he stepped forward and reached out to grab the wrist of her hand that held the knife. Dexter stretched her arm out until the knife was raised over the sink. He squeezed her wrist and the knife landed against the porcelain sink with a clinking sound. Dexter took another step forward, making Miranda stumbled back into the closed bathroom door. The intention in Dexter's eyes was making her shake. Roughly, he put his hands on either side of her face, rubbing his thumbs against her cheeks. Miranda shuddered, closing her eyes and letting her head collapse into Dexter's hands. Her hands rose, pressing against his chest. She clutched his t-shirt in her fists and, little by little, opened her eyes. Miranda's gaze locked with Dexter's and almost immediately he pressed his lips to hers sharply. They kissed, Miranda pushing up against Dexter. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her cheek. Miranda broke the kiss, sliding a hand under the one Dexter was holding on her right cheek.

"Ow…" She leaned back against the door, holding her hand on her face.

"What? What's wrong?" Dexter's hands slid down to her shoulders and he craned his face to meet hers. Miranda brought her hand away from her cheek, looking at it. Across her fingers, there was a thin line of blood. Dexter's hand went back up to her cheek, hovering over the scrape. "Oh, god, I scratched you."

"What?" Miranda moved past him, leaning over to look in the mirror. Right above her cheekbone, it looked like one of Dexter's fingernails had broken the skin. He had been squeezing his fingers against her face. She touched a finger against the blood in disbelief. "Oh… it's nothing. Just a scratch." Miranda turned back to him, her hand pressed against her cheek.

"Here… Sit down." Dexter took a few steps forward and gently pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her to sit on the edge of the tub. Miranda watched him search through the bathroom cabinets, find a washcloth, wet it and kneel down in front of her. Her hand lowered from her face, coming to rest, palm up, in her lap. She held the bloodied hand cupped in the other. Miranda's eyes were on her hands when she felt the wet cloth touch her cheek. Rather than jump, she looked up at Dexter. His eyes were on her cheek. "Does it hurt?" Dexter's voice sounded raspy. Miranda shook her head, but didn't say anything. After a few minutes, Dexter pulled the rag away from her cheek. "There. It stopped bleeding." He said as Miranda raised her hand to touch her cheek again. Dexter grabbed it, wiping the dried blood from her fingers. When he finished, he held her hand in his for a moment. Then he looked up to see her watching him. It was Dexter's turn to ask Miranda: "What is it?"

Miranda half shook her head, but stopped, looking down. Dexter stood, going back to the sink. She spook to his back. "Something about you, Dexter…" He had turned the sink on and was wiping the paint off his face, but he stopped when she began to speak. Miranda caught his eye, his reflection in the mirror. Dexter kept his back to her. "Something about you is so… frightening." From what she could see in his reflection, a shadow seemed to cross Dexter's face. Miranda stood up, slowly. "But at the same time… something inside me just… aches to be frightened."

Dexter opened his mouth as if to speak as he turned to face her but suddenly a loud ring vibrated off the white tiled walls. Miranda's breath caught in her throat and she brought a hand to her chest. "Jesus… that scared me." She laughed nervously as Dexter flipped the phone open. As he talked, Miranda wandered into the main living area and into the kitchen. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. When Dexter walked into the kitchen, Miranda had already chugged down half a bottle of water.

"Who was on the phone?" Miranda asked as she brought the bottle back to her lips. She began to take smaller gulps.

"Dispatch. They need me at some crime scene near the beach…" Dexter paused and an awkward silence fell between the two.

"Well… should I… go?" Miranda twisted the cap onto the plastic bottle. Dexter sharply shook his head.

"No!" Looking up at him, Miranda saw Dexter catch himself and shrug. "I mean, I still don't want you to be alone. And it—" Dexter stopped, catching himself again. After a split second he exhaled, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his head. "It would be nice for you to be here… when I get back." Miranda nodded.

"Then I'll stay. When you get back, though, can we go get some clothes from my apartment?" She pulled her shirt away from her stomach. "I really need something to wear." Dexter laughed, nodding.

"Sure. We'll go get you some clothes." There was another uncomfortable pause before Dexter spoke again. "Well, I guess I'd better go…" Impulsively, Miranda leaned forward to kiss Dexter's cheek.

"Bye." Dexter smiled, reaching up to brush a hair out of Miranda's eyes clumsily. He turned towards the door. Miranda called out to him. "I'll be here." Turning to smile again, Dexter took a few backward steps to look at her before grabbing his keys out of the key bowl near the door and say goodbye as he closed the door behind him.

And then Miranda was alone in Dexter Morgan's apartment, a man she had met just days ago that managed to make her anxious and thirsty at the same time.


	5. V : Baggage

When Dexter returned hours later, Miranda had already cleaned the bathroom and lined the three paintings along the kitchen counter top. As Dexter slowly opened the door, he peeked in, gazing around the living room. Miranda had not stopped with just cleaning the kitchen; it looked like she had straightened the entire space, including the kitchen. He stepped all the way into the door, softly dropping his keys in the key bowl. She had pulled one of his button downs out of his closet and pulled it on, rolling the sleeves up. Miranda's back was towards him. She was watching the television, which she had turned up very loud and had on some sort of music channel that was playing videos. Dexter moved towards her. Bouncing in place, Miranda was singing softly to the song that was playing through the television speakers. Dexter smiled a little. Gently, he snaked his arms around her waist. He felt her inhale, startled, before she craned her neck to look at him.

"Oh, hello there. You're home." Miranda grinned.

"Yes, I am indeed…" Dexter let go of her waist, stepping back a little. Miranda turned to face him, away from the television.

"I'm sorry I have it on so loud… This is how loud I usually have it when I'm home." Dexter nodded as Miranda snatched the remote off the coffee table and pointed it towards the screen. Green bars flickered at the bottom of the picture and began to decrease. "How was work?" She asked, sitting down on his couch.

"It was… work." Dexter sat down slowly next to her. Miranda sat with her ankles and knees pulled close together, her arms wrapped around her waist. She slumped into the cushions. Dexter's posture was stiff, his hands clenched tight. "Oh, did you want to go over to your apartment?" Miranda looked up at him with a studying look for a moment and smiled.

"Yeah. Can we?" Dexter nodded, running his hands up his legs towards his knees before standing up again.

"Let's go, then." Dexter said as went to the key bowl yet again. Miranda nodded as well, standing. She tugged awkwardly at the large button down she was wearing as she followed Dexter towards the door.

"Oh, I borrowed your shirt." As she stepped out on to the landing outside the door, Dexter chuckled.

"I saw." The deadbolt slid into place and Dexter tucked the keys into his back pocket. "It looks good on you." A satisfied smirk seemed to cross Miranda's face as the two descended the stairs into the parking lot.

They were talking about music when Miranda unlocked the door to her apartment. Before she got the door halfway open, a banging sound erupted from inside. Miranda looked up at Dexter, who pressed his arm against the door, glancing inside.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Dexter's voice sounded large in the tiny apartment. The two of them took a few small steps inside. Miranda reached for an umbrella that leaned against the inside of the door jam.

"Who's there?" Miranda called into the bedroom, and then looked toward the kitchen. Abruptly, there was another _thump_. Dexter quietly stepped forward into the kitchen of Miranda's apartment.

"Miri?" The voice came to the left of them, from the living room. Miranda walked through the hall and looked over the side of the couch. Oliver was lying there, looking quite at home with Miranda's comforter and a throw pillow.

"Oliver?" Miranda shook her head, looking back at Dexter, who shut the door. Oliver sat up, rubbing his eyes. He had apparently been asleep. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

Oliver exhaled, leaning over his knees. "Sloane and I go into a fight last night after dinner." His neck slumped, his head hanging between his shoulders. Miranda looked to Dexter again, who hovered in the connection hallway to the living room.

"But… why are you here? Who let you in?" Oliver gestured, pointing forward to the wall.

"The chick who lives next to you. She had a key 'cause she said she watered your plants when you were gone sometimes." Oliver lolled his head back, rubbing his neck as he spoke. He finally looked up at Miranda. "I thought you were just getting in late or something. I fell asleep." Miranda looked toward the television's clock.

"It's past 9 o'clock at night. What, did you spend the whole day here?" Miranda's jaw was clenched, her hands on her hips. Oliver did not pick up on the frustration.

"Well… yeah." Oliver looked up at his sister, shrugging. "I needed a place to crash." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "So where have you been? It's been, what, twenty-four hours since you've been home?"

Miranda cleared her throat, glancing once again to Dexter, this time apologetically. Oliver finally saw her look towards the hall and looked over the back of the couch to see who it was standing there. Oliver scoffed.

"You've been over at his house, huh?" Oliver was shaking his head. He looked up at Miranda slowly, condescendingly. "I thought you said last night that you weren't dating." Miranda ground her teeth, giving Oliver a stern look.

"We're not dating, Oliver." Miranda grabbed her brother by the arm and jerked him up. The comforter crumpled to the floor. "Now, get out please."

Oliver pulled his arm out of his sister's grip, smirking now. "You know, Miri, I thought you'd left that sleeping-around slutty crap behind you a long time ago." He looked at Dexter pointedly. "Apparently I was wrong." Miranda froze, her mouth falling open in astonishment. Oliver looked back at her, seeing her face flush with anger. Smiling, Oliver stepped past her, walking towards Dexter as he spoke again. "Did you know Miranda was quite the nympho in college?" Dexter held his gaze icily. "Yeah, it started right around the time when our parents died. Our therapist said she was trying to fill some sort of hole in her life or something." He came to a stop, right beside Dexter and turned to look at Miranda. "Personally, I just think she wanted attention." Oliver looked back to Dexter, grinning. Dexter stepped back a little, clearing the hallway. Miranda had sunk into the living room arm chair.

"I believe Miranda asked you to leave." Dexter's voice was low and arctic. Oliver's grin began to fade into an unfeeling gaze.

"Whatever, man. She's your problem now." Oliver took a few steps back down the hallway, holding Dexter's stare. Dexter watched him until he had closed the door behind him. Slowly, he turned to Miranda, who had crumpled over her folded arms that she had lain over her knees. When he sat down on the side of the couch that was feet from the arm chair, she lifted her head slightly, resting her forehead on her hands. They sat in silence for a few long minutes.

"People deal with death in lots of different ways." Miranda seemed startled when Dexter spoke. She looked up and he could see that she had been crying. After looking over him softly for a lengthy moment, she inhaled and raised her head back. As she wiped her face off, she shook her head.

"I'm just so embarrassed he said that." Miranda looked back over at Dexter, rubbing a hand over her mouth. "He was just angry with me. He's so selfish." She inhaled again and this time it was shakier. "I don't… I don't like to think about that time in my life." Miranda leaned forward again, covering her face with her hands. The sleeves of Dexter's button down had unrolled and fell around her elbows. Dexter watched her from the couch, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. Slowly, he slid off the couch and kneeled in front of Miranda. She looked up, hearing him shift off the couch.

"I can honestly tell you, Miranda…" Dexter took a breath, rolling eyes his toward the ceiling. Miranda kept her eyes on him. "You could've turned out a lot worse. I—" His eyes fell back down on her. "I lost both my parents, too." After a moment, when a silence had fallen after Dexter's confession, Miranda reached out and touched a hand to his cheek lightly. They sat like that for another long silence until Dexter stood. Miranda's hand fell to her lap. "I'm going to make you some coffee." Dexter hovered for a while before walking into the kitchen when Miranda nodded slowly.

Clinking sounds traveled from the kitchen into the living room where Miranda still sat in the arm chair. She slunk back, stretching her legs out in front of her. Looking over to the couch, where her brother's makeshift bed still lay, crumpled, Miranda blinked. She looked toward the hallway, unable to see Dexter walking around in the kitchen. Quietly, she pulled herself onto the couch, folding her knees into her chest. As her eyes closed, she heard Dexter call her name from the kitchen.

She was standing in an endlessly white hallway. Miranda's breath became shallow and her palms felt sweaty. She had been here before. Panicked, she looked around for Elina. Standing next to her, looking straight, ahead was Dexter. He didn't look at her, but instead seemed fixated on something else in the hall. Miranda followed his gaze and there, were nothing had been before, was Elina's mangled body. She looked like she always did at the end of Miranda's dreams. Miranda began to cry, reaching out for Dexter's hand. He met her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. As she continued to look at Elina's body, a figure began to walk down the hall. It drew closer to Elina and Miranda wanted to call out, even though she knew Elina was dead. The shadow approached the body and Miranda squinted, realizing she had been mistaken: the figure was actually two figures. Genna Baird kneeled down to Elina's body and whispered something in her ear. Elina's eyes opened. Miranda took a step to run to her, but Dexter's hand pulled her back. Genna helped Elina stand up. The two girls stood in front of the third figure, which pushed past them and came into the light. It was Oliver. As he began to walk towards Miranda and Dexter, the girls followed him. When he was feet from them, he reached out his hand. Elina and Genna continued walking, reaching out their hands as well. Genna's outreached hand eventually touched Miranda's cheek. Elina reached for Miranda's free hand. Miranda looked over to Dexter. Dexter was looking at her, shaking his head. Then he turned to Oliver. Elina was starting to pull Miranda forward, towards Oliver. Miranda felt Dexter's other hand reach up and grab the forearm of the hand he held. Miranda turned back to Dexter, trying to scream. Genna fingers were starting to pull Miranda's hair. Elina's nails were digging into her hand. She could feel Oliver wrap an arm around her waist. Dexter's hand was starting to slip.

Miranda jolted, kicking her knee into the side of the couch. It hit a spring. She sat up, cursing. It was pitch black in her living room. Letting her breathing slow, Miranda pushed her hair away from where it was stuck to her sweaty face. She swung her legs over the side of the couch, brushing her hand over her leg. Miranda looked down. She wasn't wearing pants.

Making her way along the hallway, Miranda ran her hand along her wall. One of her kitchen lights was on, but she couldn't see anything else. "Dexter?" Her voice was quiet, soft. Had he left? "Dexter?" She spoke louder this time, turning a corner. The bedroom door was open a few feet from her. Miranda took a few steps, peering into the doorway. "Dexter?" In the light of the streetlight outside her window, she saw her bed sheets move. Miranda stepped into the doorway.

"Miranda?" Dexter sounded sleepy. She heard him roll over and shift, maybe sit up a little. "You're awake."

"What time is it?" Miranda was whispering. There was a sound like Dexter checking his watch that lay on the bedside table.

"4 o'clock in the morning." She heard him groan.

"I'm sorry I woke you up. I—" Miranda grumbled slightly. She felt like a child. "I had a nightmare."

"What was it about?"

"Oliver." There was silence. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"Uh, you kicked me." Dexter laughed. She wished she could see his face.

"Oh. I'm very sorry about that." Miranda felt her hand brush against her bare thigh. She tugged at the hem of the button up she was still wearing. "Um… did you undress me?" Dexter laughed again.

"I just took your jeans off."

"Why?"

"You asked me to? Right after you roundhouse-d me." He was still laughing. Miranda smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see her. There was another silence. "Come here." Dexter's voice filled the silence loudly, louder than Miranda thought was right at four in the morning. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed from the doorway and crawled onto the bed. Dexter shifted over as she slid under the covers. Miranda felt Dexter slide down, too. The two of them pulled the covers up, around their chins. Yawning, Miranda lolled her head to the side, looking over at Dexter. He was looking at her. Miranda blinked, sleepily and yawned again. She rolled over, away from Dexter, lying on her side and clutching the sheets to her chest. Her thoughts became foggy with slumber, but she felt Dexter shift next to her. He rolled over and Miranda felt the pressure of his arm lying over her hip. And Miranda fell asleep thinking that Dexter's breath on the back of her neck was a nice thing.

The mattress shifted and Miranda groaned. The curtains on the window next to her bed weren't drawn and sunlight was leaking in generously. She blinked and yawned, stretching her arms. Her right arm connected with something. Looking up, Miranda saw Dexter's face. From a weird angle. Her head was lying on his chest. "Oh." Miranda sat up, leaning on one elbow. "Sorry." She looked down at him. "You're not wearing a shirt." Dexter laughed nervously.

"Yeah, well… you're not wearing pants." Miranda, snatched at the sheets, pulling them towards her chest. Dexter slid out of bed.

"How… how long have you been up?" As Miranda spoke, Dexter pulled his watch off the table.

"Oh, I don't know… half an hour? I didn't want to wake you…" Miranda had to look up into the sunlight to see Dexter's face. She shook her head.

"Yeah… I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to—" Dexter shook his head, raising a hand.

"No, don't worry about it." As he talked, he walked out of the room, into the kitchen. Dexter's voice sounded distant when he called to Miranda. "Do you have any eggs?" She could hear him opening and closing cabinets, then the refrigerator.

"Eggs?"

"Yeah, I'm in the mood for eggs. How do you like yours?" Miranda rolled out of bed, walking to her mirror that hung over her chest of drawers. Frowning, she ran a hand through her hair.

"Over easy, if you don't mind?" She walked out into the kitchen.

"Dexter? I think I'm going to get a shower…" He looked up from the carton of eggs he had just placed on the counter.

"Oh, okay. I'll have breakfast ready when you get out." Miranda nodded, walking into the bathroom, watching Dexter as she closed the door behind her.

When she got out, Miranda wrapped a towel around herself, realizing she forgot to get a change of clothes. Carefully she opened the door, clutching the terry cloth. Dexter was occupied with the eggs, his back was to her. Miranda softly took a step into the hall, the carpet cushioning the noise. Almost in the doorway, she heard Dexter speak.

"Miranda, what are you doing?" She turned, holding the towel with both hands.

"Uh, well, I need to get dressed? So I'm just going to do that now…" Miranda raised a hand to her forehead, shaking her head as she walked into the bedroom. By the time she was dressed and walked into the kitchen, she could hear the water running in the shower and Dexter was nowhere to be seen. A plate of eggs was waiting for her on the table.

Miranda was almost done with her breakfast when Dexter came out of the bathroom, wearing the same clothes that he had on earlier. "Do you want to go back to your apartment and get some clean clothes?" Dexter sat as Miranda spoke.

"Yeah, I guess… " Dexter picked up his fork, but hovered over his eggs. "Do you want me to… leave?" Miranda looked up, setting her own fork down on her plate.

"Well… no." Biting her lip, Miranda cleared her throat, standing up with her plate in hand. She heard Dexter's fork drag across the ceramic plate. Sharply, Miranda turned. "I'm sorry if you feel like you have to hang around here. You really don't." Dexter looked up from the table. Miranda leaned back against the side of the sink. "I'm a big girl." After a second, Dexter dropped his fork and stood up. There was silence as he walked toward her, stopping to stand in front of her, his bare toes just barely touching Miranda's.

"I know I don't have to be here. Miranda, I'll tell you something—" Dexter brought a hand to his eyes, rubbing them before using the hand to gesture to Miranda. "I think you're in serious trouble with your brother. I did some research and linked the Genna Baird case to the murder of your friend Elina Consuela." Miranda felt her knees give out. Her hands gripped the sink as she doubled over, gasping for air. "Miranda?" Dexter caught her, carefully lowering her to the tiled floor. Her body began to shake with sobs.

"Are you saying that you think Oliver killed Genna Baird, too?" Miranda looked up, her fingernails digging into Dexter's shoulders. He didn't flinch.

"Yes. And I don't want you to get hurt, too." Shaking, Miranda leaned against Dexter. Her sobs came farther apart.

"I'm sorry." Dexter almost didn't hear her.

"What did you say?" Taking a hand to her chin, Dexter tilted Miranda's face up to his.

"I said… I'm sorry." Miranda licked her lips, taking a shallow breath in. "I know you never meant to get mixed up with an… emotionally crippled skeleton expert with emotional baggage to the tune of a psychopathic brother." Miranda thought she heard Dexter chuckle.

"Yes, I never _meant_ to." Dexter was looking away from her now, off into space. "But now that I've met you…" He smiled when he looked back to Miranda. "You can't know how happy I am."


	6. VI : Iron

Miranda and Dexter spent Sunday at the beach. Miranda wore a t-shirt over her old bikini she had had to pull out of the deep recesses of her chest of drawers. When the two of them wandered down the shore, Miranda reached out to take Dexter's hand. He didn't cringe or turn away. That night, they danced around the idea of sleeping in their own respective apartments. But Miranda fell asleep watching TV on Dexter's couch and they never finished the conversation. They were the only ones in the elevator on their way up to work on the second floor of the Miami P.D. building the next morning. Miranda took the opportunity to kiss him. Dexter smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist. They separated when the elevator doors open. Miranda cleared her throat and they walked into the hall.

Someone called Dexter over as they made their way toward his desk. Miranda waved him away and made her way to the cubicle, sliding onto Dexter's desk. As she kicked her feet, Miranda gazed across the office. Looking to her right, she could see Dexter through a few glass windows. He was in what seemed like a one way conversation with Maria LaGuerta. She was doing a lot of talking and gesturing with her hands. Dexter's sister walked by, getting caught up in whatever LaGuerta was saying. Miranda couldn't see Dexter's face. She was about to look away when she saw Deborah nod in her direction, catching Miranda's eye. Miranda saw Maria nod and look her way too. Dexter turned, finally facing Miranda. She thought she saw him shake his head a bit. It took all of two minutes for him to make his way across the office to where Miranda sat on his desk.

"What did they say to you?" Dexter had his hands in his pockets. When Miranda spoke, he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"They found a body on Saturday morning. I didn't get called in because another lab tech was on duty." Miranda took a quick look around the room. Deb and LaGuerta were watching the two of them from two rooms away. Miranda looked back at Dexter, craning her head to catch his eye.

"What are you talking about? Who did they find?" Dexter exhaled loudly, rolling his head back and finally his eyes came down to meet hers.

"Sloane Johnson," said Dexter. Miranda felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Oli—Oliver's—" Dexter's was nodding. When he spoke, it was soft.

"Oliver's girlfriend." Miranda collapsed, forcing all her weight onto her arm that was braced against the desk. Her other hand fanned in front of her face.

"Oh—oh my god…" She leaned forward. Her vision blurred. Vaguely, Miranda felt Dexter grab her by the shoulders.

"Miranda… Are you okay?" Dexter's words came to her as if she was underwater. Miranda shook her head, sloppily gesturing to the small trash can Dexter had tucked under the desk.

"T-trash… trash can…" Her hand went to her forehead, covering her eyes. Miranda heard Dexter fumble with the can before she felt the cold metal dig into her thighs. She leaned forward and vomited into the plastic bag lining the trash can. Slumping back, Miranda's dizziness began to pull her down, as if coercing her to lie back. She felt the trash can lift from her legs, felt Dexter's arms slip under her knees and neck. It seemed that her hearing was going out since, as her head tilted back, she could see Dexter yell something but no sound came to her ears. Miranda felt cold tile on her back. Groggily, she lifted a hand to Dexter's cheek, feeling the stubble under her thumb. Then Miranda slipped into unconsciousness.

She was lying in an endlessly white room. A cold metal table was under her. A bright light was above her. For a second, Miranda thought she could've been at the dentist. Then she felt a cool trickle of liquid snake under her shoulder. When she lifted a hand to look at it, she saw one side of her palm was stained with red. Her hands ran up her torso and for the first time she realized she was completely naked. When her fingers reached her head, it felt sticky. Miranda pulled back a hand. It was covered in blood. She dragged her hand across the top of her head. It was completely bashed in. Shaking, Miranda let her hands go back to lie by her sides. She blinked and suddenly Elina was there, clutching her hand. On the other side was Genna, who reached up to stroke Miranda's head. Looking down her nose, Miranda saw a figure step forward out of the whiteness. Oliver. Clutching his arm was Sloane, who let go to walk around the table to stand at Miranda's head, where she was out of sight. Oliver leaned over the end of the table, sneering. Out of the light a figure reached out behind him, grabbing Oliver by the neck. The face came into focus. Dexter.

Something was pricking Miranda's arm. She blinked, groaning. The room smelled of… hospital. Her eyes adjusted the light shining in from the open window. From what she could tell, Miranda was in a hospital. That explained the smell. Someone was sitting in her room's armchair, a jacket draped over their face. Miranda smiled through a haze that she guessed was from the IV in her arm. Dexter. Dexter shifted and groaned, bringing an arm up that knocked the jacket from the face. Miranda squinted; something was wrong. The figure's hair wasn't red. It was black. Her voice was raspy from disuse and didn't come out as more than a whisper.

"Oliver…" Even as quiet as it was, Miranda's realization caught Oliver's attention.

"Miri!" His voice was harsh to her ears. Miranda felt hungover. Oliver made it to her bedside in three steps. Before she could yank it away, he had her hand caught between his. She was shaking her head. "God, I'm glad you're okay. When the hospital called—"

"The hospital… called you?" Miranda tried to tug her hand away but the IV and dizziness got in the way. Oliver gave her a genuinely curiously look.

"Of course they did. I'm your emergency contact, Miri." Miranda kept shaking her head, slow but determined.

"D-Dexter…" The light in Oliver's face dimmed.

"Dexter?" Oliver lifted a hand and placed it roughly on Miranda's head. She cringed, trying to pull herself away. The IV tugged at her arm. Oliver's hand was slipping down her head, to her shoulder, then cupping around the side of her neck. "What do you want with him, Miri? You're my baby sister… I'm the only one that needs to be taking care of you…" Oliver's thumb slipped over Miranda's trachea. He pressed down.

A nurse walked into the room, observed in papers she was reading off a clipboard. Oliver's hand dropped to his side.

"Ms. Cerulean?" The nurse looked up, smiling warmly at Miranda, then Oliver. Oliver nodded to her, looking the perfect mix of worn out and thankful for his sister's well-being. The nurse continued. "If you're being released into your brother's care, I'll be glad to share some information with him about caring for you in the next couple days."

"N-no…" Miranda felt Oliver's hand grip hers. She pulled away sharply. "No, I—" There was a thump of the door opening.

"Miranda?" It was Dexter, looking disheveled and genuinely worn out. As opposed to Oliver's faux-tiredness. The nurse turned.

"Sir, who are you?" Dexter had seen Oliver and was now standing across the bed from him. The two men held each other's stares.

"I'm—" Dexter glanced down at Miranda, who was shaking. A few tears had escaped from her eyelids and were now pooling under her chin. "I'm Miranda's boyfriend, Dexter Morgan." Dexter turned to the nurse. "She'll be coming with me." Oliver exhaled through his nose, loudly.

"Actually, nurse, I'm Miranda's only living relative. I think it would be best—" Dexter didn't even look at him.

"You can excuse Mr. Cerulean. He has been out of contact with his sister for several years now." Dexter leaned in closer to the nurse. "He's not really fit to look after himself, let alone Miranda." Oliver slammed a hand down onto the railing of Miranda's hospital bed. She jumped, let out an audible sob. The nurse frowned.

"Mr. Cerulean, I can easily call security down here. Now, Ms. Miranda, who do you feel comfortable going home with today?" Miranda was still shaking. Looking down at the hospital sheets, she reached for Dexter's hand that was gripping her bed railing.

"D-Dexter…" She looked up at the nurse, who nodded.

"Mr. Cerulean, maybe it would be best if you got some air?" Oliver chuckled sarcastically. Miranda didn't look at him as he left the room. Dexter squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. "Now, Mr. Morgan, Miranda's tests show that she is anemic as well as dehydrated. In the next couple days, it's very important that she get the correct amount of water and plenty of iron in her diet." Dexter nodded.

"Yes. Yes, of course. That shouldn't be a problem." The nurse nodded.

"Well, she can be released today."

When the nurse had left, Dexter kneeled, pushing the bed railing down. "What happened?" Miranda's shaking had subsided, but another tear dripped down her cheek.

"When I woke up, Oliver was just… sitting there. Like everything was fine. He came up and… threatened me. And then—" Miranda raised a hand to touch her neck. "I think he was trying to choke me…" Dexter's head dropped onto the bedsheet. He exhaled loudly.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here. They let me ride over in the ambulance, but wouldn't let me out of the lobby while you had your tests done. Only family allowed…" Miranda shook her head, exhaling herself.

"There was nothing you could do. Don't apologize." There was a still silence before Miranda turned to look at Dexter. He felt her stare and raised his head. "Boyfriend?" Dexter looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head.

"Yeah, sorry about that. It just kind of… came out." Miranda giggled, sliding down into the bed again.

"I like it."

Dexter personally pushed Miranda's wheelchair out into the parking lot where his car was waiting. He had had Deb drive it over, he told Miranda. On the way home, Dexter stopped to pick up iron supplements from a drug store, then steaks from the grocery. It was around four o'clock when he helped Miranda onto his couch and threw a blanket over her. Miranda watched from the couch as Dexter messed around in the kitchen for a few minutes before bringing her a glass of water and shaking a large glossy pill out of the supplement bottle. As Miranda brought the water to her lips, Dexter held out the pill.

"Here, take this." Miranda took a sip of water, keeping her eyes on Dexter, giving him a look. Dexter shoved his hand gently towards Miranda, giving her his own look. Sighing, she took the pill from him, slipped it between her lips and chased it with a gulp of water. Miranda set the glass down on the coffee table while Dexter walked back into the kitchen. "And finish that glass of water!" Miranda rolled her eyes, stretching back across the sofa.

"You don't have to do all of this, you know." She couldn't see Dexter as she talked, but she could hear him pulling things from drawers and cabinets, making lots of noise. In moments, he was back beside the sofa, pad of paper and pen in hand. Dexter handed the paper and pen to Miranda. He ignored what she had so recently said.

"Write down everything you think you need from your apartment." Hesitating, Miranda took the pad and pen from him.

"What? Why?" Dexter stood, leaning against the arm of the sofa. His hands went into his pockets.

"I want you to stay here for a while. With the hospital and everything, I just want to know you're taken care of. And if you're here, Oliver… won't know where you are." Miranda looked at him for a long moment before nodding. She pressed the pen to the paper and began to write. Within minutes, she had a long list of items: clothes, DVDs, CDs, nail polish, a half-eaten bag of chips she wanted to finish. Dexter chuckled when she handed him the list.

"What?" Miranda raised an eyebrow, pulling her knees to her chest. Dexter shook his head.

"Nothing. I'll start dinner when I get back." He headed toward the door. Miranda frowned, twisting to watch him from the sofa.

"Wait, I'm coming with you." Miranda went to stand up as she spoke. In a second Dexter was gently pushing her back. She looked up at him. Dexter was shaking his head.

"No. If Oliver's waiting for you… for us, I don't want you to get hurt." Dexter was heading back towards the door. "Wait here, I'll be back in ten minutes, at the most." Miranda half-smiled. Dexter returned it and closed the door behind him. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place rang into the apartment and left it empty. Miranda slid down into the sofa, pulling the blanket to her chin.

When Dexter walked back into his apartment, Miranda was blasting the same music video channel. She was lying on the couch, but her knees were propped up, one leg crossed over the other. The upper leg was bouncing with the music. Dexter set the suitcase he had found in her closet next to the sofa. It was filled with everything Miranda had written down. And then some. Miranda looked from the suitcase to Dexter, smiling.

"Thanks…" Dexter shrugged, heading into the kitchen. Miranda leaned over, unzipping the suitcase. She ran a hand over everything, checking. Everything she needed was there. In a few minutes, she heard something start to sizzle in the kitchen. Miranda turned the TV off. When she slid down to the other end of the couch, Miranda could see the back of Dexter's head as he cooked. She watched him, leaning her chin on the arm of the sofa. In less than fifteen minutes, the two of them were sitting on opposite sides of Dexter's table, eating steak and potatoes.

Miranda picked at hers, cutting it up into pieces before taking a bite. Dexter watched her, chewing.

"You must be starving… Eat something." Miranda looked up when Dexter spoke, shrugged, then looked back down. She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork and popped it into her mouth. When she looked up to smile at Dexter, he frowned. "You've had problems with anemia before, haven't you Miranda?" Miranda reached for her glass of water, her third since they'd been home.

"It's hard to get over." Miranda took a large gulp of water. Dexter took a bite of potatoes. He was waiting for her to continue. Miranda exhaled. "In college, I struggled with an eating disorder. I've been to the hospital for anemia a lot." She looked back up at him, holding her glass. "It's hard to get over." She repeated. Dexter studied her for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah. It is." Dexter continued eating, but Miranda kept her eyes on him.

"Dexter," She said, making sure that we was listening. "In these last couple days, I've told you more than I've ever told any one person before." Dexter took a sip of water, chewing. "And I know barely anything about you." Finally, Dexter swallowed his food. There was a silence and when Dexter spoke it startled Miranda.

"I'm adopted." Miranda took a bite of steak.

"Yeah?" Dexter was nodding, but he wasn't looking at her.

"Yeah. My foster father was a cop. He found me at a crime scene." Miranda took another bite, chewing slowly. Dexter looked lost in his own head.

"A crime scene?" Dexter finally looked up, meeting Miranda's eyeline.

"I watched my mother get chopped to pieces. When I was three." Miranda coughed, struggling to swallow the food in her mouth. When she got it down, Miranda looked up to see Dexter leaning on the table, palms flat against the wood, fingers fanned out. Miranda's jaw clenched.

"Dexter, I—" Her breath caught in her throat when Dexter looked up at her. His face looked contorted, his eyes were empty. He didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Finish your steak, Miranda." Shaking, Miranda picked up her fork. The two finished the meal in silence. Dexter waited patiently until Miranda had put the last piece of steak in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. He got up and shook another pill from the bottle of supplements. Miranda swallowed it without a word.

When she stood up from the table, Dexter's face came down to meet hers. For a second, Miranda stood still, surprised by the kiss. Dexter grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer. Before she know what was happening, Dexter picked Miranda up and was carrying her across the living room and lying her on the bed. Miranda fumbled with her jeans as Dexter's shirt fell onto the bed beside her. As he leaned down to crawl on top of her, Miranda felt the room rock. She was on an ocean and the bed was floating just on top of the water. Waves were pushing them, back and forth. Miranda lay back onto the comforter as Dexter pulled her shirt off. When he sat up to mess with his belt buckle, Miranda reached out a hand to grip the edge of the mattress. It didn't help.

"Dexter…" He leaned down to kiss her. The bed seemed to flip over, spinning. Miranda put a hand to Dexter's chest. "D-Dexter…" Miranda pulled away, closing her eyes. She felt Dexter's hands on her face.

"Miranda?" The bed jostled as Dexter stood up. "Don't sit up, hold on." Miranda felt like he was gone hours. Her vision was blurry and she felt too sweaty. She was panting when Dexter slid his knees under her head, pressing a cold glass to her lips. "Drink." Miranda obeyed, taking a large gulp. It went down too fast and she started coughing. Dexter set the glass on the side table, holding Miranda's head. When the coughing subsided, Miranda opened her eyes. The bed was rocking gently now. The look on Dexter's face could only be described as… overwhelmed. The two of them stared at each other for a second.

"I'm… sorry." Dexter shook his head when he spoke. Miranda smiled softly, putting a hand on Dexter's chest.

"It's not your fault…" Miranda watched Dexter's face, squinted as her head settled, stopped swimming. Suddenly, the look on Dexter's face changed to something, an express Miranda had never seen before. A mix of authentic curiosity and wonder. A hand went to Miranda's head. She watched Dexter, whose fingers wound through her dark hair. Something came over Miranda; a tear dripped down the side of her face. Dexter saw it and caught the tear with his hand. Miranda doubled up, pressing her face against Dexter's chest as she sobbed. She felt his arms fold around her. He kissed the top of her head. They sat like that for a very long time.


End file.
